


Nighthawks

by maliciousfisheeves



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Hiatus, Light Angst, On Hiatus, Prologue, because i'm still sad about them, mostly me thinking of henryk and gascoigne becoming Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maliciousfisheeves/pseuds/maliciousfisheeves
Summary: As an aging hunter, Henryk had mostly kept to himself. He planned on it staying that way-- that is not what happened.Follows pre-game Henryk and Gascoigne.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately I will not be able to continue this. I may comeback to it, but I wouldn't get my hopes up. Sincerely sorry

            Henryk sniffed, feeling something crack in his back. He groaned and stood up straight. He didn’t really have time to lapse his conscious, but he also didn’t feel like having a muscle spasm while he was _actually_ fighting.

            He felt a bit funny, stretching like that, twisting his arms back and forth like a school girl playing with her dress, but it wasn’t like he had anyone to make fun of him. Beasts didn’t exactly laugh.

            Well, that was a lie. Sometimes they did, and hunters too. Henryk always hated fighting blood-addled hunters—they were too erratic, too hard to predict. Their thoughts were frayed like a beast’s but their actions controlled like a man’s, at least until they started fighting desperately. Then it became even harder to fight them.

            No one fights harder than for their life.

 

            Henryk ceased his stretches and looked around. He may have been old but his senses were sharp, and he could pick out even in that darkest of nights the faintest reflection of moonlight off a beast’s bloodied pelt. There were two werebeasts and one recently turned, who held onto a plank of wood with clawed hands. Why the three tolerated one another was a mystery to him, but he didn’t particularly care.

            Beasts needed hunting.

 

            So he made his way carefully. Stayed downwind of them and out of the light. Made sure to ready his knives to draw their attention and determine if they were just tolerating one another or actually working together—always hated when they did _that_.

            So he chucked his knife and landed a direct hit. Square between the eyes of one of the werebeasts. It howled with pain, wracking its claws against its head. After it finished it ran after the direction he’d thrown it from, but Henryk had gotten out of the way, having backed up into the shadows.

            The other two stayed behind and he made a mental note to sigh in relief later. At the moment he was trying his best to stay quiet, just until the werewolf got a little bit closer.

            It inched forward, its long claws clacking against the stones in the pavement. He could smell it more obviously, however, despite how his garb covered most of his face.

            He waited until it was within a few feet, then lunged. He cut it down fairly quickly, with it be too shocked to offer too much resistance. It tried to slash him once but missed when he dodged.

            The common beast from before seemed to have noticed, its empty eyes searching in the dark. It hobbled forward, leaving the other behind.

            It seemed almost pitiful, the thing examined the dead lycanthrope with confusion, like its hacked up body simply could not cross its mind. Henyrk sliced clean down its back, its skin making a papery tearing sound as he did so. He threw most of his weight into the deep strike, managing to knock it to the ground.

            He picked his bloodied boot off its back, turning to the werewolf which stared back. Its eyes nearly glowed as they reflected moonlight,

            Henryk and the beast fought mostly in silent—muffled and ragged breaths that passed between hardly registered. It slashed, he dodged. He slashed, it dodged. Eventually he caught it in such away he was able to hack at it for a moment before backing off.

            In the end, the beasts were dead and he was more or less okay. Tired, but okay.

 

 

            Henryk didn’t go outside much during the day, instead tended to his weapons. Fine-tuned his cleaver to make sure it didn’t explode in his hands, or something, and sharpened his knives. After he finished toiling around he went through a few things.

            It wasn’t like there was much for an old hunter like him to do.

 

            He went through old letters, mostly the correspondences between he and the other confederates. He didn’t know why—he just liked something about the paper. It was simple and mostly clean, unlike most of his arrangements.

            He put his letters away, deciding it was time for rest. He walked over to his favorite chair, the only thing left from before he’d came to Yharnam, and sat down. It creaked a little, but it was reliable despite how worn it’d become. There was no way to restore it the way he wanted it to be, and he didn’t really want it repaired anyhow. Let the thing become old, which was what was supposed to happen to it anyhow. It was more comfortable.

            Henryk dozed off until nightfall, to which he put on his hunting garb, grabbed all his things and set off. He was used to this sort of cycle—sleeping for most of the day and then running off to hunt. It wasn’t a problem necessarily (if not a bit lonely.)

            Then again, he wasn’t a hunter for the sociability of it. It needed to be done, and damn the beasts anyway.

 

            He hadn’t, however, taken special precaution to the crick in his spine. He’d chosen to ignore it for the time being, having woken up a bit later than he liked—he liked to be out just before sunset so that he was ready and waiting for the beasts. That didn’t matter anyway, it wasn’t like he had anywhere in particular to be.

            For the first few hours it went relatively easily. A few close calls, a few moments in which he’d just barely escaped having his throat torn out, but that was… normal? He supposed that in most realities it wasn’t, but in his it was.

            He’d seen a few hunters while he’d been out, made sure to stay out of their way and them out of his. It was a sort of knowing look they gave each other—“Do you have enough blood vials” was typically his only question for them, for when they seemed a little frazzled and recently healed. He’d give them what he could, which wasn't much, but _enough_. He just hoped he wasn’t feeding anyone’s transformations… hunters made the worst enemies.

            But he was alone, for the most part. Really, it suited him. He was a foreigner, first of all. Didn’t matter how long he’d been in Yharnam, he wasn’t from around there. Hadn’t grown up there or whatever excuse they’d made up. Plus, he wasn’t exactly very good at communicating. Didn’t like talking beyond what needed to be said, which didn’t always make for good conversation.

            So he ran from the roofs, to the streets, from sewers and alleyways, hunting what needed to be hunted. It was a good night—he’d used relatively few vials for himself and still had plenty (“plenty” was a relative term.) That was until something inside felt like it had snapped.

            He gasped and stopped, leaning quickly against the nearest wall. The world spun with how much it hurt. He groaned, feeling along his ribs and then upwards to a knot in his back that complained no matter what he did. He almost wanted to curse. Great Ones, not _now_. He was old, sure, but not that old. Right?

            He slid down the wall, groaning. He cursed a few times and waited for his spine to stop crackling with pain, when his mind quickly turned. Something, or rather _nothing_ , caught his attention.

 

            It was far too quiet.

 

            Now, Henryk was a reasonable man. It was most likely past half the night, so most _normal_ people would be asleep, especially with the hunt going on. But the silence seemed too impermeable in that moment, like something was holding sound hostage.

            He knew what it meant—he was being stalked. Beasts did that—silenced the world for a moment. Everything could tell when they were around, so everything shut up.

            He silenced his own breath, listening for any give away. Anything at all—the clack or claws, the sound of breath in the air through garbled lungs. The growling of something’s stomach. Anything.

            But nothing appeared, not at first. He let out a breath after his lungs began to burn, but still found his free hand managing for his throwing knives.

            He swallowed hard, and started to listen again, but the pain seemed to fog his mind. Something deep within tempted him. A blood vial, to soothe the pain.

            Henryk knew better, though. He was too well familiar with hunters turned beast.

 

            Far too.

 

            Something, briefly, caught his attention. It sounded like a boot, heavy and firm, but distant. Not very far, but far enough. It seemed cautious, but sure, judging by the slow but steady footfalls.

            He half considered his options, coming upon playing dead first and foremost. If he found that said hunter was blood addled he could spring up and stab them in the neck. The other half focused on trying to ignore the pain. 

            So he loosened his grip, relaxing his muscles and acted like another corpse among the many.

            The footfalls came closer, and he could begin to hear breathing. That was also steady.

 

            There were two types of blood addled hunters, as far and Henryk was aware; those who were completely out of control, and those who were not. Those out of control were volatile and dangerous to most, especially inexperienced hunters. Those who were, however, were the most unpredictable… it was difficult to tell what one whose mind was so frayed and yet whose actions were not so was capable of, despite the number of times he’d seen it happen.

            So, a hunter with controlled breath and footstep was cause for alarm. (Really, on the night of the hunt everything was cause for alarm.)

 

            Henryk’s head was tilted enough his gaze was hidden as the hunter stepped into view. A tall man, mostly wearing grey garb he didn’t entirely recognize, but appeared church-like. (This was minorly worrying for Henryk.) Built like a brick wall, carrying an axe that suited his apparent height well. The only thing Henryk could not see was the hunter’s face.

            The hunter turned their feet a bit to face Henryk. He very carefully flickered his fingers around his knives, keeping his motions small enough that only one with keen eyes would be able to pick out the motion.

            The hunter, very carefully, took a step back. This didn’t matter so much as Henryk could throw his knives, but either way he found the motion even more alarming. The hunter knew, and if they were dangerous he’d have to act soon, but part of him feared that his anxiety may lead him to kill a man, so he waited. That, and the pain surged so much in his spine he couldn’t entirely focus on what he was doing.

            The hunter bent down, giving him a careful look. Henryk could still not see their face, but he knew the hunter could probably see his. At least, some of it.

 

            “You still alive?” their voice was gruff, and their accent different than the typical Yharnam voice Henryk had grown accustomed to.

 

            Henryk tilted his head up slowly, then nodded. The man narrowed his eyes.

 

            “Can you stand?” he asked. The hunter suddenly looked up and both ways, staying silent for a moment before returning their attention partially to him. The man was certainly alert.

 

            Henryk wasn’t sure what to say, so he grunted and rose up the wall. The hunter said nothing, rising as well.

           

            “I’ll make this brief—there is a beast around, close by, and I assume a big one. If you are not in the condition to fight, then leave. If you are, feel free to join. Or git’.” The man said briskly, throwing his head in the direction that led out into the streets and away from the beast of interest.

 

            Henryk thought for a second, then pulled a vial and jabbed it into his side. Suddenly the pain melted away, and he felt entirely better. More than entirely—like something inside was burning and replaced with something new. Suddenly his thoughts were no longer distressed and he wasn’t tired, in fact he was wide awake.

 

            “May as well help.” He answered softly.

 

            The man nodded and walked off. Henyrk stayed a little ways behind, having taken up his saw cleaver and listened closely.

            It was less so hearing, more like feeling. Something within him reared its head after be disturbed, and could sense the beast more easily than he could. He was disgusted, but he also didn’t care. It was confusing like that.

            He followed behind carefully before the hunter stopped.

 

            “Ey, it’s up ahead,” he whispered, then split off.

 

            He must have expected Henryk to know what he was doing, or didn’t care. Henryk decided to head off in the opposing direction, taking off into the dark. He could briefly see the other hunter in the pale moon’s light, but only in short bursts of time.

            They seemed to read each other’s motions, if not partially. They were hunting like dogs—which was to say effectively if not in much more primal manners.

            It eventually worked out, as they had finally found their quarry—a cleric beast. A small one, perhaps more recently turned—which was good. The longer a cleric beast lingered, the more blood it consumed and the more dangerous it became—and it had already appeared to have racked up a new meal.

            It had not yet noticed them, for they hid almost entirely in the dark and stayed mostly silent. Henryk would have been surprised at one time of how quiet such a large man could be, but he’d learned a long time ago it was always the big ones that surprised you (he’d learned the hard way, of course. His shoulder still hurt sometimes.)

 

            They made eye contact briefly. The hunter pointed a finger at himself, then made a slashing motion, then he pointed at him, making a tip-toeing motion with his fingers. Henryk nodded like he _completely_ understood.

            The hunter then, surprisingly, bolted out of the shadows and slashed his axe downwards. The beast lunged out of the way just in time, hissing as it was removed from its grotesque meal. The strike seemed like it should have split the ground by the metallic sound it produced.

            The hunter, then slashed forward again, surprising both Henryk and the beast. The new hunter seemed full of surprises.

            The beast tried to get out of the way, but Henryk hadn’t been so blind-sided as to not get the gist of the plan, so he came up from behind and slashed into its back.

            The beast leapt over their heads, snarling fiercely. It picked up the body it’d been knawing on and chucked it at them, sending the heavy corpse crashing into the hunter at his side. Henryk had managed to get out of the way.

            The beast then lunged, launching itself at the man who’d had to take a heavy step back to prevent themselves from falling due to the whole corpse business, because falling was the worst thing you could do—that did not mean however, that the cleric beast launching itself onto them was any better.

            It’d opened its mouth wide to snap the man’s head clean, but the man shoved the beast off before it could so.

           

            _Damn_ , Henryk thought. He began to like this hunter and all their surprises.

 

            The hunter breathed hard, taking the brief moment to jump back. At this time Henryk came in, utilizing the beast’s bewildered state to dodge around its flank and slash it in its side again. It howled and slashed back.

            Henryk hardly felt the pain, more so just the warm wet feeling spread around where he’d been hit. He’d learned to not worry about the pain until later—it’d taken a while and a lot of scars in order to get that way.

            He hissed and got out of the angry beast’s way, allowing the newly refreshed hunter to come barreling in again. Henryk could almost laugh, as just as the beast was readying a roar the hunter hurdled in, jamming their axe down again and cutting the beast short.

            They went on and off again after that—the beast would occasionally get a few of its strikes in, but not many before the other hunter would return and take a chunk of its flesh and splatter its blood.

            He didn’t know if the fight was terribly long, but it was over at some point. They stood, breathing hard standing over its corpse.

 

            “Thank ye’. Dun’t know if I could have done it on my own.” The hunter said, nodding his head. He seemed done talking afterwards.

 

            “Thank you.” Henryk replied, then walked off.

 

            He’d made note of the hunter, but thought of them nothing more than one of the many interesting characters he’d met. He hadn’t even learned their name.

            Eileen had said a while ago that he wasn’t going to have many friends if he never asked them their names. He’d agreed, then said he preferred it that way. They both knew why—you couldn’t be quite as sad when you found their corpse.

            Perhaps that just made him sadder.

 

            He saw the hunter a few times after that—brief flickers only of course. It must have been a recognition thing, because the man was too experienced to be _new_ , at least as far as Henyrk could tell. Mostly because he saw him quite often, relatively, which meant he was good enough a hunter to not be dead (yet.)

            Henryk _did_ try to put the man out of his mind, but something about them was intriguing. But Henryk was old. He was going to die sometime, and he didn’t need anyone getting upset over that. Hunters just worked better alone.

 

            Henryk stood in his room, staring out the window. It was really the only window, the others blocked off or didn’t let much light in. He only had one room after all, and it wasn’t like he spent much time inside, but suddenly the little rays of sunlight that beamed through seemed pitiful.

            He twitched his mouth to one side and got to rearranging—something he did every so often when his living arrangements bothered him. Like a crow in their nest, he moved all his hunting gear around, mustered up his strength to move the bookshelf, and was pleased when now _two_ windows were open.

            He didn’t bother tidying much else up, but he did make sure the floor was clear. Why? He didn’t know. It wasn’t like he had company to worry about, besides maybe Eileen; but she was more or less a ghost. He wasn’t sure where she slept, now that he thought about it.

            He used to know, when she told him things, but now not so much.

 

            Well, a clean home was a nice home. So even if he wasn’t going to be entertaining anyone any time soon, at least when he’d dragged himself home covered in blood he didn’t need to worry about tripping over anything (that had happened before. He’d fallen asleep like that.)

            Henryk reclined in his chair, sighing heavily. It was a sigh of relief—one of many he’d been gathering up after the past few nights. It was relaxing, letting all of it out in one sigh. It released the tension from his bones and his muscles. It allowed him to sleep much more peacefully as well.

            He did have a few thoughts as he began to doze off, mostly about that hunter but a few about Eileen. He didn’t like thinking about her- not because he hated her of course! No, not at all. But in a way, he missed her. He missed having a friend.

            It seemed somewhat foolish, because he knew better. He knew he was going to die or that any friends he made would. But it still was bothersome. Well, more than bothersome, but not enough to distract him.

            Sleep came easily, despite his wandering thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> I felt real bad because I haven't posted anything in a while, woops. I still have the long term project in my head but I still have planning to do on that. SO! here ya go!  
> Also: I do plan on adding more chapters (which is why you see Viola in the tags)


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